Leaving on a Jet Plane
by MyShame7
Summary: Post Judgement Day. Sometimes the most significant moments in our lives involve no choice at all. Light angst and smut.


**Post Judgement day. I am sorry for this fic. The devil (aka Michael Weatherly's hotness) made me do it.**

_**~Sometimes the most significant moments in your life happen without any choice at all.~**_

* * *

She holds her breath as the door swings open to reveal a not at all sleepy looking Tony. She'd like to wipe the shit eating grin off his face with a sharp blow to his gut but she almost can't blame him for smirking, really. It's nearly midnight and they both know why she's here.

There is just a moment's too much hesitation while his eyes rake over her body, a half a heart beat too long before he leans against the door frame and cants his head as if he's actually contemplating not asking her inside.

"See? Inevitable." He's trying to sound smug but she can't help noticing the edge of sad resignation that creeps in on those last few syllables.

"May I come in?" She doesn't wait for an answer but brushes past him, shedding her coat as she enters. There is an open duffle bag in the hall and her heart squeezes at the sight of it.

She rounds on him before the door is even closed, dispensing with the small talk and picking up where they left off earlier, before their fates were so cruelly decided for them. "I do not believe in inevitabilities Tony. I believe in choices. Jenny and Gibbs? They made a choice as partners and when it was over? When it was done? Another choice was made, and another after that. Our desires do not determine our fate. Nothing is inevitable."

His eyes burn into hers, jaw muscles twitch as he holds back, waits for her to finish.

"I could have chosen not to join NCIS and this moment would have been avoided. You could have chosen to stay with Jeanne, chosen a promotion, and this moment would have been avoided. I could have stayed at my apartment tonight Tony, but I did not." She's backed him further into the narrow hallway with each word but he looks more like a hungry lion ready to strike than the caged animal she expected. Her hand settles on his arm. "It is time for you to choose. Do we live by Gibb's rules or do we make our own?"

The words have barely left her mouth when his lips descend. She says a tiny prayer for the wall that catches her as she falls back, body arching into the rigid tension of his while lips and tongues caress. He's taking all she can give and more, and she's drowning in his taste. The feel of him has been branded on her mouth for the last three years and she embraces it like a long lost friend, gliding her tongue across his in a dance for possession.

Her hair has seemingly become a playground and a lifeline for his hands. He clutches desperately to the soft strands at her nape while brushing the curls from her face.

When he finally releases her mouth with a drawn out pull of his teeth against her lower lip, he is already breathless. He slides a hand over her ass and pulls her flush against him, letting her feel the effects of her kiss. "Gibbs doesn't have a rule for this."

There's no question in her mind now. Neither of them will try to stop this from happening tonight. They've run out of excuses and she's so tired of fighting. She tugs at his shirt, feels the expensive fabric slip beneath her fingers until they finally collide with bare flesh. Her fingers graze around the waist of his jeans, circle to the softness at the small of his back.

"Rule number 12?" She poses, not even sure why she's raising an argument as his tongue laves the sensitive spot behind her ear.

"Unless you're headed to that air craft carrier with me tomorrow, I'd say we're no longer co-workers. Not to mention, dating might prove a little difficult if you're in Israel."His breath is hot against her skin and each word sends tiny vibrations down her spine. He pulls away long enough to draw her shirt over her head and she mentally applauds him for meeting her eyes again so quickly rather than focusing on the lace covered peaks of her breasts.

"What about rule number one?" She's distracted now, thumbing hurriedly at the buttons of his shirt, nipping the skin at the base of his throat.

His hand is at the closure of her khakis but he hesitates, brings it back to rest against her jaw. "It's, 'Never screw _over_ your partner,' Ziva."

"There is a difference?" She pushes his shirt from his shoulders, hands skimming lightly over hard muscle. When he leans in, she can feel the heat radiating off his body.

"Only sometimes." The edge of regret has crept in again. "Still, it doesn't apply here."

"Because we are no longer partners?" Beneath his desperate hunger, there is a heaviness to the look he's giving her which she's seldom seen from him, something in his eyes she desperately wants to believe in. His thumb traces her cheekbone and she shivers even though she's anything but cold.

"Do you trust me?" he asks softly.

"With my life," she responds automatically and with complete sincerity. There is no hesitation and she tries to focus clearly on eyes that are too close.

"Then we're still partners." His hips press her harder into the cool solidity of the wall and her eyes flutter closed involuntarily. "As for the other part…" He kisses her again, softly and with a slow deliberation that makes her feel as though she's sinking into the drywall. "If that's why you came here tonight," his voice is a low growl as his mouth skates across her jaw, "I can't help you."

His lips are at her throat now and she presses up on her tip toes, molding her body to the hardness of him as his words sink in. She feels his length, rigid against her belly and there's no hesitation this time as his hand snakes between them, flicks open the closure of her pants with sure fingers and dips inside, lowering her zipper along the way.

Hands that had been eagerly exploring a moment before take a death grip on his shoulders as he nudges her thighs apart, slips between her slick folds. Her head falls back and she gasps as he slides back and forth across her heated flesh, palm pressing into her clit as he curls inside.

Tony's undeniably talented lips, which have been busily igniting tiny fires across her neck and shoulders, move back to coax her mouth open. His tongue flicks across her lower lip, steals in to caress her in rhythm to the movement of his fingers. He swallows her soft moans as she begins to move against his hand, thrusting her hips greedily to drive him deeper.

She wants so desperately to make him work for it, wishes she were something other than a trembling, keening, ragdoll in his arms but her body is committing the ultimate betrayal and she has no choice but to surrender to the tide of pleasure washing through her.

* * *

She's talking about choices and inevitabilities but he only half hears her because the truth is, he made _his_ choice ages ago and he's been semi hard since she walked in the door.

Now he's half undressed, his hand buried in her wet heat and he _seriously_ wants to concentrate on technique, to show her just how he can make a woman's body sing but she's whimpering against his mouth in the sweetest fucking way and driving herself against his palm with such purpose, he's not sure he could remember his own _name_ if asked.

She's slipping south on trembling legs and he wraps his arm around the small of her back, pulling her even closer. Her lace-clad nipples rub like silken steel as they slide against his bare skin and when he feels her hand push between them to twist and pull one sensitive bud he groans a curse into her open mouth and retreats to the only slightly less dangerous territory below her ear.

He hasn't come in his pants since he was 16 but he thinks if her writhing hips don't stop brushing deliciously against the erection that is straining insistently and uncomfortably for more direct attention, he might have one hell of a mess on his hands.

When her fingers begin to flutter an unsteady rhythm on his shoulder, he takes her sensitive lobe between his teeth and whispers encouragement in words that might make a dead man blush, coaxing her until she breaks against him with a guttural and unintelligible cry. Ziva quakes breathlessly in his firm grasp until finally, she releases a shaky sigh against his throat. She's still quivering around his fingertips when he withdraws. He makes sure she's watching beneath her half-closed lids as he brings his hand to his lips and cleans each finger slowly, letting her flavor explode across every inch of his tongue.

Under different circumstances he'd give her more time to recover but his cock is throbbing almost painfully and _fuck _he's waited so long for this. The hand at her back moves up to unclasp her bra like a pro while the other slides over her hip to rid her of her khakis and panties. He bends to help her extricate herself from the pile of clothing at her ankles and uses the opportunity to latch onto a pert breast.

Her hands move lazily through his hair as she allows him his fun, lets him explore every inch of exposed flesh unhindered.

She tastes like vanilla and sandalwood, a sexy combination of sweet and spice and he can't quite determine if it's perfume, lotion, or just _her._

He straightens, partly to catch his breath, partly because his back is protesting his bowed position, and mostly because he needs to be inside of her and _soon._

When he places a hand beneath her chin, she opens her eyes and regards him with an expression he can't quite decipher. Her hands drop to his waist in understanding of his own unfulfilled need and she quickly unfastens his belt and moves for the closure of his jeans until he grabs her wrist to hold her back.

"Careful," he cautions her through clenched teeth.

She smiles the wicked smile of a woman who has suddenly found her advantage over an opponent. "What is the matter Tony? Afraid you will, _fire_ _prematurely_, as they say?"

She's teasing but his tone is deadly serious."You have no idea." He prays he has enough control as he uses his grip on her wrist to flatten her palm against his groin. "This is what you do to me," he growls, refusing to let her move against him.

He can hear the catch in her breathing and he releases her. She moves slowly, heeding his warning as she gently lowers his zipper. There's some relief as she lifts the waistband of his boxers to free him and shoves his jeans around his ankles, careful to avoiding contact with his engorged flesh.

Her hands are on his chest, weaving in and out of the thick hair in the center, following the trail down his sternum to his belly and hesitating. "I want to touch you Tony." Her brown eyes are nearly black, her lips swollen and parted as she gazes up at him.

"Next time." He bends and wraps both arms around the small of her back, lifting until she locks her supple thighs over his hips.

He starts down the hallway, mentally calculating the number of seconds it's going to take to get her into his bedroom when his foot catches on the forgotten duffel bag. He might have righted himself were it not for the 110 well muscled pounds of beautiful Israeli wrapped around him but as it is, he fights their momentum to land on his knees and rolls so that she lands astride his hips rather than with his weight on her.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registers the thud of his elbow against the wall and the dull burn of course carpeting sliding beneath his shoulder but at the moment he's much more aware that his aching cock is pressed against the soft flesh of her belly and that she's wriggling in the most delightful way as she attempts to extricate herself.

"You okay?" he manages, wincing as he tries to hold her still.

"Fine, are you alright?" There's a hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"So much better than alright," he manages before reaching up to cradle her head as he flips her on to her back, twisting his hips so he's pressing into her soft, damp curls. Her arms fall to either side of her head and his hands skim their length, lock onto her fingers as he levers himself up to capture her lips while slipping into the tight embrace of slick heat.

She gives a tiny gasp at his intimate invasion but raises her hips to meet his next thrust as he seats himself firmly inside her. Her knees press lightly against the top of his ribs as she lodges her ankles against the small of his back and rocks impatiently.

His go-to trick of picturing Mcgee naked in front of his computer eating nachos is doing nothing for his self control this time. He begins to move against her, hoping desperately to last longer than he thinks he's going to. He wants to keep kissing her but he's moving on instinct now, too lost in how absurdly fucking good she feels sliding around his cock to coordinate more than one activity at a time. He's happy to have gotten off more than a few good thrusts when he feels the familiar tug that tells him he's just a hair away from spiraling completely out of control.

"You're amazing," he gasps against her ear. "Too good…I can't…I'm sorry Ziva…"

She acts quickly, pushing against his hips with her own to take control and flip him onto his back, a move that is all too familiar to him. "With me," she pants as she places her palms on his chest and sits back, setting up a hard and fast rhythm.

He has only a moment to gaze up at her in complete awe as her face, framed by long soft ebony curls, takes on a mask of elation and intense concentration; a moment before the pressure that's been building against his cock is no longer threatening, but _demanding_ that he come. He grasps her hips and lifts his knees, thrusting in counterpoint as the dam breaks and his body goes rigid with release, arching up into hers as he spills deep inside.

Ziva continues to strain against him for her own pleasure, manicured nails digging little half moons into the soft skin of his chest until her body begins to quake and tremble, inner muscles locking around him in a vice-like grip, magnifying his own orgasm and forcing the air from his lungs in a strangled cry that rings off the walls around them.

The convulsions of his body begin to subside and she collapses against him, jasmine scented hair falling across his chest and throat. The tiny mewling cries she's making against his neck as her body continues to flutter bear some resemblance to his name and he wraps a heavy arm around her, pressing his lips to her hair.

"Hey," he says a bit awkwardly when he finds his voice again, "everything okay?"

She shifts and he tenses momentarily as he slips from her warmth. She props herself on an elbow and regards him with a sated smile. "You really aren't very good at this are you?"

"Said the woman who just came twice in my hallway. I didn't hear any complaints, David."

"I do not mean sex, Tony."

"Oh, good. Because in my opinion, that?" He gestures to the space between their two bodies, "that was…"

"Incredible? Powerful? Impressive?" she interrupts. "Exactly what words would the great Dinozzo use to describe our coupling?" There's a hint of accusation in her tone.

Instead of rising to her taunt, he simply palms the side of her face and brushes his lips across hers. "I was going to say, it was lovely," he breathes against her mouth before pulling back to enjoy watching the blush bloom on her cheeks.

"Tony, I…"

"Also hot. Very, very hot." The punch to his shoulder is only slightly harder than he expected.

There is an awkward moment of silence which ends when she pushes herself up and begins to gather discarded clothing.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding my things. I can not very well drive home like this," she says, as if what just transpired was simply an itch that has now been scratched. "I would also like to clean up."

He gets up and stills her near frenzied movements by wrapping his arms around her waist. He braces himself for an elbow to the gut but instead, she just drops her arms to her sides. "Don't leave." He realizes it sounds more like an order than a request, realizes how much he truly wants her to stay.

"Tony, we should not kid ourselves. Tomorrow you will be boarding a plane. In a few days I will leave for Israel. I do not wish to pretend that this is something other than one night which we have both needed for a very long time."

"My plane doesn't leave until 1800 hours tomorrow. Don't you think there are a few things to discuss before then?" He brushes her hair away from her shoulder and presses his lips to the damp tendrils behind her ear.

"What is it you wish to discuss?" Her voice has suddenly taken on a far more sultry tone.

He knows he has the advantage now and that her momentary post-coital panic is slipping away. "Well, I can start with how stunningly beautiful you are naked." His hand ghosts up her ribs and covers her breast. "Or how much I want to…"

"Pizza." She suddenly pulls away from him and bends to pick up his shirt from the pile of discarded clothing at their feet, slipping it over her own shoulders.

He blinks in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"If we are going to _discuss_ things all night, we will need food. You order pizza, I will clean up."

"You are an amazing woman, Ziva David," he calls to her retreating backside.

She turns and regards him intensely. "You are an incredible partner, Anthony Dinozzo," she says earnestly.

In that moment he is doomed with the knowledge that one night with her will never be enough.

**_Is there more to this? I really don't know. _**


End file.
